Page 74 of The Sweet Spot

JB: Okay, I looked at our schedules because I am a man who needs ONE good thing to hold onto.

JB: Sunday. I'm home in Charlotte and I have a lunchtime game. I'll be done by 4. Are you free Sunday night once your sponsor stuff wraps?

Whit: I should be, yeah.

JB: Then, Whitney Marlow, I would like to take you on a video date this Sunday at 6 p.m. We'll both be awake. I'll order food to your Florida rental and my apartment. We'll have dinner together. Talk properly for the first time in six weeks.

Whit: I'm in.

JB: You're IN?

Whit: I'm in, Callahan. Sunday night. It's a date.

JB: 🥳 Thank god. I needed something on the calendar that isn't a flight.

JB: I know you fly to Canada Monday and then we're back to voicemails and time zones, so I'm going to make Sunday count. I'm going to talk to you for an hour before I even let it get filthy.

Whit: We both know that's a lie.

JB: It's a beautiful lie, and I'm committed to it.

Whit: Goodnight, JB. Get some sleep. You sound like you need it.

JB: Sunday's going to be the best part of my month, and it's just a phone call. That's where I'm at. Night, Coach.

Chapter 13

Thud!

That’s the sound of the front of my car landing on the parking garage floor as I go over a speed bump a little faster than usual. My gear bag launches off the passenger seat and my teeth clang together.

I don’t care. I’m late.

The game ran longer than expected, with a sloppy ninth inning from our closer and a long post-game interview with Sienna. We won, though. That’s the important thing. Still holding steady at .600, which has nothing to do with my bat, but I’m hoping a little bit of time with Whit tonight might help bring it back to life.

It’s the only thing that’s keeping me upright today. The thought of seeing her on the screen, talking for longer than fifteen minutes and enjoying each other’s company.

I swing into my spot, kill the engine, and have my phone out before the car has fully stopped.

My car dash says 6:05.

“Fuck.”

I call her before I bother getting out of the car.

She picks up on the first ring. The video’s angled up at her, so it’s mostly her face that I can see.

“You’re fucking perfect,” I breathe out. I can’t help it. The truth always comes out when I’m looking at her.

“Hello to you, too, Handsome,” she says with this small smile on her face. That hollow chest I’ve been feeling since week three without her suddenly feels a lot less empty.

“I missed you.” I rest my head on the seat and just take her in. Now that I have her on the phone, nothing else seems to matter.

“Ditto,” she quips as she reaches for something off-screen.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Opening the car door, I get out, not once losing sight of her. Even when I slam the door and jog for the elevator, she’s there, right in front of me. The only thing I see. “My game ran a little long. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to call you dressed like this, and I’d planned on having your food already delivered to your door.”

“JB.” Her voice has an amused, sing-song quality to it. “Breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”